An annual cruise on the Shannon is more than just a fun evening out for gay people living in the west and northwest, they tell Rosita Boland

'We started looking online for sailors' costumes two months ago. We all went to the Dundrum Centre one day and tried on white trousers for size. Then we bought the sailor suits on the Net and customised them by sewing on different stripes of rank. We put a lot of time and effort into our outfits. We even had a rehearsal. I guess you could say we're like nine brides," says Jeremy, from Fermoy, Co Cork, as he adjusts his sailor's hat.

Jeremy and his eight friends are dressed in eye-catching washing- powder-white sailor suits. It's a Friday evening and they're waiting to board the Moon River, which is docked at Carrick-on-Shannon, Co Leitrim, for the annual river-cruise party organised by Outwest, the social and support group for gay, lesbian and bisexual people in the west and northwest of Ireland. Quite by coincidence, Moon River's slogan, painted on the side of the boat, proclaims that the company is "Bringing Pleasure to Cruising".

Even though the nine men sporting identical sailor suits are revelling in the attention they are attracting from people waiting to board, and the curious tourists having a riverside stroll, when the photographer arrives to take pictures for this article, some of them hide from his view. While several are happy to pose for pictures, one young man crouches behind a van. "The first thing my boss does every day is read The Irish Times," he explains.

According to Frank O'Grady, Outwest's chairman, there are 300 members on their database, but fewer than half of these are "out" to their wider community. In fact, nobody on Outwest's committee is sure how many of their members are "out". One suggests 20 per cent. "There are different degrees of 'being out'," explains Barry Kelly, vice-chairman. "Some of our members are married or priests. We have older members; retired farmers, who wouldn't be out. Then there are other members who would be out to their family and friends, but not to anyone else, especially work colleagues."

Outwest, which is a voluntary organisation, was formed 10 years ago to provide a support group where gay men in the west could meet socially and safely. Since then, women have joined too, but their numbers remain much smaller. The organisation's first social event was a disco in a hotel in Roscommon in 1999, which was booked as a 21st birthday party. "Over 100 people turned up and it quickly became obvious it wasn't in fact a 21st," O'Grady laughs. Since that clandestine booking, all Outwest's social gatherings are openly booked as gay events.

By the time we set off, some 90 members, virtually all men (the date clashes with a lesbian event), have boarded the Moon River. The bar is thronged, cling-film is taken off the buffet meats and salads, and the music kicks off What's Love Got To Do With It, while orange lights flash at speed. What's immediately obvious as everyone settles down to a drink and plate of food is the age range. Every decade from teens to 70s is represented.

An elderly man sits quietly in a corner, white hair neatly brushed, wearing a suit-jacket and a tie, nursing a pint of Guinness. A Dubliner from birth, he comes to Carrick every year to go on the cruise: he never goes out to any public gay meeting places or events in Dublin.

"If he was in the George or the Dragon in Dublin, nobody would speak to him," says Cyril from Westmeath. "It's all about being cool there, and the scene, and the way you look - and the age you are. But here, people are talking to him. People are different out of the cities, it's more inclusive." He has high praise for Outwest. "Anything for young gay Irish people is good, especially teenagers. No matter how liberal Irish people say they are, they aren't. We're always going to be in the minority, we'll never be a majority. There's nothing easy about being gay in Ireland."

Cyril speaks at length about his own experience of the confusion and isolation of being a gay teenager in the small midland town where he still lives. Even though he's been living with his partner for some years now, and appears the epitome of articulate confidence, wearing a box-fresh white Armani shirt and faded designer jeans, he gradually loses his nerve about giving his name. First he gives his whole name. Then he asks that only his Christian name is used. Then he asks that the name of the town where he lives not be mentioned. Then he slips away into the crowd of smokers at the back of the boat.

"The west of Ireland would always have been seen as an inherently conservative place. It's also very community-based, which is great, but it's not so great if you're a farmer in your 50s who has never come out and are still living at home with Mammy," says Michael Finlay, who's originally from Co Mayo. "Outwest have made a real difference to gay people in the region, because it's a safe, supportive place for people to go. And it's not in any way clicheish or ageist, which the gay community in urban areas, particularly Dublin, tends to be.

"We advertise the helpline number in 11 provincial papers, but I've no doubt some people still fall through the net that we don't reach," O'Grady says.

"There is still an isolation issue about being gay in rural Ireland," says Kelly. "Not only an emotional isolation, but a physical one. There is a lack of public transport in rural Ireland and some of the older members who can't drive find it very difficult to get to our events." The cruise, they explain, as well as being a social event, is a kind of annual "thank you" to all their members. "Because of our geographical range, we change the location of our events a lot. That means some people always have further to travel than others, so the cruise, which is a loss-maker, is Outwest's chance to say 'thank you' to them for supporting us."

Night falls as the riverbanks slide by and the lights of Carrick fade. The boat goes up and down the river. The volume increases. Chris, a retired well-travelled businessman in his late 60s who lives in a small Co Mayo village, has to shout to be heard. "People in my village would know I'm gay, but it's never been discussed, ever."

Alan Heverin from Castlebar, Co Mayo, believes it is now more socially acceptable for the younger generation to be gay in Ireland.

"When I was 18, I knew maybe two other gay people in Castlebar, and none of us were out. Then I went to Spain, and it's so different there, so liberal. When I came back to Ireland, I came out. I was 22. I'd say I was the first person to come out in Castlebar. You might say that was early to come out, when you look at some of the older men here, who have never come out. But what I see when I look around the boat are all the teenagers here, partying, having a great time. They're out. I lost those years, when I could have been having fun."

The music is blasting loudly and the lights swoop and flash over the crowded dancefloor. Heverin stops talking. Then he grins widely and lifts his drink in a kind of toast to nobody in particular. He may have lost some years by not being out, but like the rest of the people on board the Moon

River, he's certainly enjoying himself now.

www.outwestireland.ie; information line 087-9725586